Pride
by BatNeko
Summary: Det. Carlton Lassiter is going insane. Why else would he be having feelings for Shawn Spencer of all people?
1. Chapter 1

1.

The problem was pride.

Head Detective Carlton Lassiter, ten-year veteran of the Santa Barbara police force, had a lot of it. He had pride in his work, pride in his appearance, pride in the care he took with his equipment. Everything he did he did with the utmost care and attention to detail. So that he could be proud of it.

Sometimes, however, he had too much pride. Couldn't admit when he needed help. Lassiter had, on occasion, been forced to address his excess of pride, and it wasn't something he enjoyed. Usually he countered this shaking of his core with a few extra hours on the range, or a fishing trip.

Lately it had been less fishing and more shooting, and maybe he should have seen the signs, but stress was a slow build. He was always stressed; it wasn't something he paid much attention to.

So the final straw, the sign that he'd officially snapped, came as a bit of a surprise.

Lassiter and O'Hara (okay, mostly O'Hara but she _was_ still a Junior Detective) were finishing up the paperwork on the latest case. There was no doubt in Lassiter's mind that Spencer was _not_ psychic, but he did have an uncanny ability to show up after all the tedious work was already completed. He affixed his needlessly-loopy signature to the appropriate lines, made a joke about someplace called "Sandford," and ruffled Lassiter's hair before skipping off to bug Chief Vick for his check.

It was O'Hara's raised eyebrows that alerted Lassiter to the oddity. The corners of his mouth had pulled up into what he was frightened to assume may have been a smile. He dropped them immediately and gathered up the papers to turn in, something O'Hara normally did. She stared after him, her eyes burning holes into the back of his suit coat.

After leaving the papers and a glare, Lassiter made for the men's room. He leant over the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. He didn't look sick. For the sake of thoroughness, he tried to recreate the expression that had caused the raised eyebrows, and discovered it had indeed been a smile. Worse, it was a soft, affectionate smile. That couldn't be possible, it-

"Practicing?"

Lassiter took pride in the fact that he didn't jump, or show any outward signs of his surprise. He glared at Spencer as the younger man walked to the sink bedside him and started washing his hands.

"Buck up, Lassie, I'm sure you'll remember how to smile eventually."

"Don't talk to me, Spencer, I'm not in the mood."

"Got a headache, honey?"

Lassiter snorted, and was dismayed to realize it was a snort of laughter. Spencer must have noticed, because his grin spread as he shook his hands dry.

"That's okay, we can just cuddle."

"If you try to hug me, I'll shoot you in the foot."

"What about a kiss?"

Even Lassiter was surprised at the ferocity of the glare he turned on Spencer. And he could tell Spencer was surprised too. Mostly by the way he fled the bathroom without another word.

By the time he looked back in the mirror the glare was gone, but anything that shut Spencer up had to be serious.

He fixed his hair and left the men's room, catching a glimpse of Spencer heading for the exit. Without thinking, his eyes drifted down and focused on a part of Spencer's body he had hitherto been completely uninterested in.

The doors in the station had some kind of spring thing that prevented them from being slammed. This was a shame, since Lassiter had never wanted to slam a door as much as he did in that moment.

All he could do was gather his things, give a perfunctory goodbye to O'Hara, and get home and to bed as fast as he could. He was tired. He was stressed. He wasn't himself.

If he was staring at Spencer's ass, he was very, very, not himself.

***

The problem was pride.

If Lassiter was a little less proud, a little more willing to admit his weaknesses, maybe he could have talked to someone about it. Maybe he could have admitted months ago that, while Spencer's attitude annoyed him, the man had proven himself both useful and dedicated many times in the past. Instead he lay awake for hours, trying to figure out what might have caused this lapse.

When he finally fell asleep, Spencer taunted him throughout his dreams, until the alarm screamed him into submission. The thoughts persisted through a cold shower and half a bagel, and Lassiter was so shaken that he allowed himself a couple sugars and a splash of milk in his first cup of coffee for the day.

Being at work helped. He and O'Hara did some more paperwork, prepared for an upcoming trial, and responded to a call that was, for once, easily wrapped up. By the time noon rolled around, Lassiter was feeling normal again. Under control. Yesterday had been a temporary lapse in judgment, nothing to worry about.

Until Spencer showed up for lunch, with a bag of mini-muffins and an insufferable grin.

Lassiter tried to ignore him, at first, but Spencer insisted on annoying him.

"I've got blueberry, chocolate, apple-cinnamon, but no." Spencer rifled through the bag and produced one of the tiny baked goods. "You strike me as a banana-nut man."

An image that Lassiter had not even known he was capable of picturing flashed through his mind, and he started coughing to cover up his embarrassment.

"Okay, not so big on the bananas. Or is it the nuts?"

"Leave me alone Spencer."

"Not in the mood again? You're never in the mood any more." He mock-pouted. "Lassie, don't you realize how special what we have is? I annoy you, you get pissy, complaints are filed, shots are fired, cycle is repeated."

"There is nothing _special_ between us," Lassiter snapped, praying silently that the warm fluttery feeling in his chest was just heartburn. "You annoy everyone."

"Shawn, we're working," O'Hara stepped in, proving once again what a valuable partner she was. "There's a suspect to question and I'm sure Lassiter wants to go to the range before lunch."

"A suspect?" Spencer's eyes lit up, and the warm feeling spread. "Maybe I can watch, see if I can glean anything from his thoughts."

"Not necessary," Lassiter said quickly. "This one is open-and-shut. Neighbors heard gunshots, uniforms found the wife dead and the husband a block away throwing his bloody shirt into a dumpster."

Spencer's eyebrows rose, much the way O'Hara's had yesterday. "Seems pretty careless."

"Most crimes of passion are. All we need is to find out why. And believe me; once you've been married you'll realize there are a hundred reasons to want to kill your spouse." That thought killed the warm feeling, so Lassiter headed for the interrogation room before it could come back.

"Ah, but he had the gun, right?" Spencer was following him, naturally. "Why would he have a gun if he wasn't planning to shoot anyone?"

"Protection," Lassiter snapped.

"Protection, hm, I thought married couples didn't need to use that."

Lassiter stopped mid-stride, making Spencer bump into his back. He grabbed Lassiter's shoulders to steady himself, and the warm flutter turned into a full-body tingle.

"Get off me." He jerked away. "You can watch, but only so you can learn how the pros do it."

Spencer grinned. "Why Lassie. I'm flattered you would take me under your wing, but I _think_ I can handle myself."

"We'll see." Not his best comeback, but the most he could do when he was trying not to picture Spencer handcuffed to a chair while Lassiter taught him… a thing or two he'd learned in college.

The suspect wasn't talking. They'd already found gunpowder residue on his hands, the neighbors had seen him leaving the apartment, but he still wasn't talking. Lassiter wasn't on his game today and he knew that; the fact that he knew Spencer was watching from the other side of the glass didn't help. After fifteen minutes he knew he wasn't going to get anything more, so he left the suspect to glare at the table while he got more coffee.

"Wow," Spencer said. "That was amazing. The way you just… kept talking while he stared all creepy Children of the Corn like at you."

"Very funny," Lassiter muttered. "This guy knows he's sunk. He hasn't even asked for a lawyer yet."

"That's because he is one."

Lassiter blinked. "What?"

"He is a lawyer. Well, sort of."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Spencer's hand flew to his temple. "I see a young man… So much to prove, and so little to prove it with. I see an alma mater, dotted with blood."

Lassiter glared at him for a moment before turning to O'Hara. "The t-shirt he was throwing away."

"From a college upstate," she nodded. "But the suspect worked at a garage. If he went to law school he never did anything with it."

"Flunked out," Spencer said. "And his wife never let him forget it."

Another glare. Lassiter's eyes lingered on Spencer's face, that stupid mocking expression, those bright eyes, the arch of his eyebrow.

He couldn't do it. Couldn't pretend everything was normal, when…

"O'Hara, maybe you should take over questioning for now."

"Me?" she blinked.

"Who else?" Lassiter rubbed his forehead. "I need to talk to the chief."

"What? Why?"

Lassiter ignored her, making his way to Chief Vick's office. She was talking to a couple of uniforms, so he waited until they left, shutting the door behind him and pulling the blinds.

"Something serious, detective?" Vick asked.

"Yes."

The problem was pride. If Lassiter wasn't so full of it, he might not have jumped to this conclusion.

"I need some leave," he sighed. "Mental health. I think I'm going insane."


	2. Chapter 2

2.

"All right, back up." Chief Vick rubbed her forehead. "Mental health leave? Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Something- something is seriously wrong with me. I can't trust my judgment."

"All right, um…" Vick started flipping through the papers on her desk. "I'll call the department psy-"

"No," Lassiter said quickly. "No, I don't want anyone I know to know about this."

"When you're missing for a few days, people are going to wonder. And let's face it, no one is going to be _surprised_."

Lassiter nodded grudgingly. "Fine, but I don't want the department shrink. Can I find my own, or is there an outside contractor? Someone I'll never have to see again."

"There's Madeline Spenc-"

"No!" Lassiter actually lunged forward to keep her from finishing the name. "No."

Vick sighed. "Someone outside?"

"Yes. Please."

"All right… I know someone. She usually works with government agents, but she moved here recently. I think I can get her to take you on."

"Thank you," Lassiter finally felt himself relax a bit.

"But in return, you have to do what ever she says. You're my best detective, and it's not going to be good for morale around here if you break down."

"Don't worry, I want to get back as soon as I can." He shuddered. "As soon as I get this out of my head."

"What is it that's made you think you're going crazy?" Vick frowned thoughtfully. "It must be pretty serious if you're willingly leaving work."

"It is. It really is."

"What is it?"

Lassiter shifted in his seat. "I'd rather not say."

"Are you seeing things? Hearing things?"

"Not exactly."

"Depressed?"

"Getting there."

"Go home, detective." Vick scribbled a number on a post-it and handed it to him. "Someone will call you by the end of the day. Just… don't do anything hasty, all right?"

"I won't." He considered saying something else, some reassurance, but he wasn't even sure how things were going to work out.

One of the mini-muffins was sitting on his desk. Against his better judgment Lassiter picked it up. Banana nut.

He dropped it on the trash on his way out.

O'Hara called when he was halfway home. "The Chief said you were taking time off. You _never_ take time off! What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "Something is though. I'm sorry, O'Hara, you're going to have to handle things on… on your own for a while." Memories of the last time he and O'Hara had been separated flashed through his mind. "Pick your own replacement partner this time."

"No one is going to replace you, Carlton," she said firmly. "Can't you tell me what's wrong?"

"I really can't. You probably wouldn't believe me anyway."

"Just don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"What- Does everyone think I'm going to kill myself or something?"

"No! No… not… exactly."

"What?"

"It happens!" He could picture the uncomfortable look on her face. "And you're- you take your job very seriously, Carlton. Not being able to do it… I mean, last time, when you got all depressed…"

"I'm not going to kill myself, I promise you, okay?" He pulled into his driveway, dreading going inside and facing the rest of the day with nothing to do. "I'll let you know as soon as I know anything for sure."

"All right." There was some whispering, what sounded like a brief argument. "Is Spencer still there?"

"Yes, sorry. I'll let you go. _Please_ call me, Carlton."

"I will. Get back to work."

Lassiter made his usual check of his house, making sure all his hidden firearms were still secure, as well as files and his open cases board. Everything seemed fine. At least he wasn't getting paranoid. In fact, the only thing he could find wrong with him were these bizarre feelings.

Why, of all people, did it have to be Spencer? Anyone else, even someone male, and he wouldn't be so worried. But _Spencer_?

But that was it, wasn't it? The proof he was going insane. There was no way, no _way_ he could be having these feelings unless he was crazy. Lassiter was just thankful he was still sane enough to realize how crazy it was.

He got a few of his favorite movies out of the DVD rack and popped one in. Unrealistic as they might be, these movies had gotten him through worse times. A few hours of gunfights and explosions would clear his head, and when the shrink called… he would be ready.

***

"You're worried," Shawn said.

"Of course I'm worried," Juliet snapped, her face almost immediately falling as she heard her tone. "Sorry, it's just…"

"He's your partner?"

She nodded. "This is serious, Shawn, Lassiter never takes time off. And metal health leave? Most detectives don't take that until they show up for a call wearing pajamas and a shoulder holster."

"That doesn't seem so-"

"At two in the afternoon."

"Ah." Shawn tapped his chin with a pen he'd taken from Lassiter's desk. "Do you want me to look into it?"

"Oh god no. If he sees you, and his mental state is really compromised, who knows what he'd do?"

"Good point," Shawn winced. "This is strange though. Very strange. What could have prompted Lassie to do something so… out of character?"

"I don't know." Her eyes went wide. "Do you think he's dying? Shawn, you would know if he was dying, right?"

"He's not dying," Shawn said. "Probably."

"Shawn!"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Wouldn't he tell you?"

"Only if he knew!"

"Jules, Lassie is fine. He probably just…" He tilted his head for a moment. "Um… I honestly can't think of anything. But he's fine!"

"How do you know?"

"I know." Shawn raised a hand to his head. "Lassie is… worried. Very. But if it was serious, he would tell you. You're his partner; he's closer to you than anyone. If he's not telling you, than it's because he's embarrassed."

"Embarrassed?" Juliet almost smiled. "That sounds like him."

"There, see? Stop worrying, and help me decide which pens to steal."

***

The call came halfway through _Point_ _Break_. Lassiter considered not answering, enjoying watching an FBI agent fall to the dark side, but on the second ring he realized some uncomfortable parallels and picked it up.

"Detective Lassiter? My name is Liane Marlow, I was told you were expecting my call?"

"Yes… Dr. Marlow. Thank you for calling, I'd like to get this fixed as soon as possible."

"Mental health isn't really something you can 'fix,' Detective. We want to find out why you think you can no longer do your job, and hopefully restore your confidence."

"And… how long with this take?"

"It depends. If you want to get started right away I have an hour free this evening. We can get to know each other."

"This evening? Today?" Lassiter glanced at his clock. It was already well into afternoon.

"If you're comfortable with it, yes. The sooner we get started the sooner you can be back at work."

"Yes. All right, yes. What time?" He grabbed a pencil and scribbled the information she gave him on the notepad he kept near the phone.

There was enough time left to finish his movie and eat, but he could barely concentrate. In a scant few hours he was going to have to admit, out loud, that he was having positive, nay, _affectionate_ feelings for Spencer. A man. An incredibly annoying man, who represented the antithesis of everything Lassiter had worked all his life for. A man who all logic said he should hate, and he had, not long ago. Even if he had slowly, grudgingly, begun to appreciate Spencer's few good points, there was no sense in the way he was feeling.

Watching Patrick Swayze walk into the surf to his death wasn't nearly as satisfying as it usually was.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Liane Marlow was older than Lassiter had expected. In her early fifties, though still attractive in a TV mom sort of way. There were pictures of three boys at various ages on her desk and her walls, sometimes with their mother, but nary a father figure in sight.

Lassiter made his usual subtle check for weapons as they greeted each other. He found his eyes lingering on places he usually skimmed out of politeness. She was older than the women he was normally attracted to, but he felt like he needed to reaffirm his heterosexuality.

"Why don't you tell me about yourself Detective?" Dr. Marlow asked as they sat down.

"Can't you read my file?"

"That won't tell me about _you_."

"I just want to get this over with as fast as possible, so I can get back to work."

"I want that too." She gestured at the closest photo. "You think I don't want you out there keeping the streets safe for my boys? But you say something is wrong, something that's made you question your own mind. I need to know about you before I can help you find out why you're feeling this way."

With a sigh, Lassiter leaned back on the couch. "What should I start with?"

"How about something you're passionate about? Why you decided to become a cop?"

Well, that was easy enough. Lassiter closed his eyes and started to talk.

***

"It was more of an impulse thing. Victoria hates buzz cuts."

"Do you like them?"

"I did when I was younger, but now I think it makes me look old."

"You're far from old, Detective."

"It doesn't feel like that, sometimes. Spencer, I mentioned him?"

"Oh yes," Dr. Marlow smiled briefly. "At length."

"He's maybe five, six years younger than me? Still acts like he's _ten_."

"Are you jealous?"

"Of his immaturity? Of course not?"

"What about anything else he does?"

"No!" Dr. Marlow didn't say anything, and Lassiter found himself rethinking it. "Not jealous, not really. It drives me crazy sometimes though."

"What?"

"The things he does! The way he acts! And it _works_. He shouldn't be allowed to- to pull that crap and get _away_ with it, much less be praised for it! He found a dinosaur for Christ's sake!" Lassiter sat up and ran his fingers through the short bristles of his hair. "He does _my_ job, as good as I do it sometimes, but in the most _asinine_ way possible. And he gets in the news for it!"

Dr. Marlow nodded. "I understand."

Lassiter blinked. "You do?"

"Of course. You've got every reason to resent him. I know I would hate it if some young idiot started telling people he could solve their problems with incense and crystal balls, even more so if it worked. Because I'd know there was a logical explanation for _why_ it worked, but if I questioned his methods I'd be accused of not being open-minded. Everything he does is a mockery of what you've worked so hard to achieve. It's like all your years of service don't mean a thing!"

"_Thank_ you!" Lassiter exclaimed. "Exactly! He's a- a self-absorbed entitled little _conman_ and no one seems to care but me!"

"But he's not so bad, really, is he?"

Resting his elbows on his knees, Lassiter leaned forward. "I guess not… He does help catch criminals, which is the whole point. The _way_ he does it is so… But he's not bad, really. He's helped me out a few times, even with the way I treat him."

"Would you call him a friend?"

"No, no, god no."

"What then?"

Lassiter rubbed his forehead. "That's… kind of why I'm here. I've got every reason to resent him, but… I don't."

"Liking someone despite their faults is a _good_ thing, Detective."

"That's just it. I… _really_ like him."

"Okay." She stared at him blankly. "I'm sorry, I still don't understand how that's bad."

"Last week I hated him! And now…"

"Right. And?"

"Why would I go so suddenly from hating someone to… not?"

All he got in reply was a shrug. "Sometimes it just happens that way. You get used to their presence, they do something that makes you smile. It doesn't make you crazy."

"But it's not… I'm not…" Lassiter winced. "It's not just friendly."

"Oh?" Her eyes widened. "_Ohh_."

"Oh," Lassiter muttered. He slumped back against the couch. "I'm not gay. I'm _sure_ I'm not. I was married! But suddenly I've got all these ridiculous thoughts, feelings… desires…"

"How suddenly?"

"It started yesterday. Out of nowhere."

"Hm. Anything else odd happen yesterday?"

"Nothing _odd_, no. We wrapped up a case."

"We?"

"Me, O'Hara, Spencer, Spencer's friend."

"Was Mr. Spencer helpful?"

"More than I wanted him to be."

"Did he do anything unusual? I mean, unusual for him?"

"No, not really. Was his normal aggravating self. Then as we were finishing up he- he rubbed my head, and I felt…"

"What?"

"Good."

There was a long pause while they both considered this.

"I take it that's not normal for you."

"Well, no. And especially not around Spencer."

Dr. Marlow set her notebook down on the low table beside her chair. "Detective, I'm still not sure why any of this makes you think you're crazy."

"I had feelings! For a man! A man I should hate!"

"But you don't."

"No!"

"In fact, you feel strong affection for him."

"Yes!"

"I gather he's the type of person who gets things handed to him?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"Handsome, charming, a bit of a goofball but that's what wins people over."

"_Yes_."

"Okay, I'm still confused."

"I have no _reason_ to feel this way about him! He's the _last_ person on the planet I should want like this!"

"It sounds perfectly reasonable to me."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "You have a crush, Detective. It happens to the best of us. And yes, it's odd that you should have one on a man since you're primarily attracted to women, but it's been proven many times that most people are at least capable of being attracted to both genders. I had a girlfriend for several months when I was in the military. It ended badly, but that was because we were both too stubborn, not because we were both women. It doesn't make you crazy. If anything, it proves you're still human."

Lassiter stared at her. "A _crush_? On _Spencer_?"

"He's someone you see a lot, he's someone you can count on, he's someone who always gets a reaction out of you. Not to mention you haven't dated anyone in quite a while, and you just finalized your divorce. A less noble man would be out picking up floozies right now. You've got a crush on a coworker."

"So… I'm not crazy?"

"Not unless you start hallucinating about Mr. Spencer or digging through his trash."

"I'll be sure to let you know." Lassiter felt his forehead relax for the first time all day. "I'll need you to sign off on a couple forms so I can get back to work."

"Of course," she nodded. "And _I'll_ need _you_ to spend at least an hour with me every week."

"What?"

"Just for a while." She raised her hand in a pacifying gesture, and Lassiter removed his fingernails from the armrest. "One session isn't enough for me to get a handle on your mental state. I'm satisfied you're not going to start shooting innocent civilians because you think they're invading samurai, but you seem very tightly wound. Just having someone you can talk to, who is paid not to tell anyone what you say, can have a very positive effect. A few more weeks, maybe a month or two, on the department's dime. What can it hurt?"

Lassiter could think of several replies, but this was the woman who'd told him he wasn't losing his mind, or his job. "Fine. A few weeks."

What could it hurt?

*****************************************************************************

AN:

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter of people talking about feelings.


	4. Chapter 4

4.

All of the women in Lassiter's family could be described as "formidable," (though in the case of at least two of them that description would be the polite way of putting it). So it wasn't really surprising that he and O'Hara had an unspoken understanding. He was the leader in their partnership… so long as O'Hara allowed it. If she wanted, _really_ wanted, she could drag him around by the ear.

Thankfully all she asked for when he got back was a hug, which he was happy to provide. She didn't even ask why he'd only been gone two days, and why most of the second had been spent in Chief Vick's office convincing her he was ready to return. All he would say was that he had "overreacted," and it was understandable that she was not satisfied with that answer.

But Dr. Marlow vouched for him, and there was nothing she could think of to dispute that. After a couple days everyone lost interest in his absence, and things went back to normal.

Mostly.

The problem was pride. Lassiter was too proud to admit his feelings, so he bottled and suppressed any outward signs of them. But people noticed. _Spencer_ noticed. Spencer noticed everything. Which was one of the things that most aggravated, and attracted, Lassiter.

O'Hara noticed too, but she didn't say anything. Spencer, on the other hand, made a point of teasing Lassiter every chance he got. Lassiter even overheard his friend Guster berating him over it once.

"We have _work_ to do, Shawn! You can't keep dropping everything to mess with Lassiter!"

"Come on!" Spencer jerked, practically stomping his foot. "Have you _seen_ his face lately? He looks like he's about to burst!"

"Is that a good thing? What if he shoots you? The beat cops have a pool going."

"Really? Can I get in on it?"

"No, because it's unethical and you'd be putting your life in danger."

"They wouldn't let you place a bet either, would they?"

"They said I was too close to it. But that's not the point!"

Spencer started to turn his head, so Lassiter pretended to be absorbed in his report. But Spencer noticed. Spencer always noticed.

Weeks passed, and Lassiter started to get the hang of it. The trick was not to fight the feelings, but to accept them and move past them. When Spencer smiled, Lassiter's heart fluttered. He just had to learn to ignore the fluttering and focus on the _reason_ for the smile, which was usually something ridiculous. Then the warm glow of fury took over that of infatuation.

Bottling things up temporarily, to be poured out at his weekly meetings with Dr. Marlow, worked a lot better than bottling them up indefinitely. Especially since now he had something he absolutely _could not_ talk about with anyone else.

"It's not going away," he protested one day, shortly after the two-month mark. "You said it would fade."

"If it's really just a crush, it will."

"And if it's not?" Lassiter was fairly certain she heard the note of panic in his voice.

"Carlton, it's possible… your feelings for Mr. Spencer are genuine."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, well, that you're falling for him."

"That's crazy," he said quickly. "I'm not- uh, attracted to men."

"Not even slightly? Not once? You wouldn't even make an exception for, say, Viggo Mortensen?"

They'd talked about favorite movies last week, and Lassiter had happened to mention how much he liked _A History of Violence_. "No," he lied.

"Mm-hmm," Dr. Marlow raised one eyebrow, but said nothing else.

Desperate for something else to talk about, Lassiter's eyes fell on one of the portraits on the walls. It was one he'd noticed before, cropped awkwardly so that half of the youngest boy's torso was cut off.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" he heard himself say, and almost immediately regretted it.

"I suppose it's only fair," Dr. Marlow said.

"Were you married?"

Her smile didn't drop, but her face seemed to lock into position. "I was. Once."

"He's not in any of these pictures."

"No. He's not in any picture in my life."

He didn't say anything, but after a moment Dr. Marlow sighed and continued.

"It's not a complicated story, really. I thought we were happy. It's true I worked a lot, but so did he. That was one of his complaints during the divorce, that I worked too much and neglected him. Luckily I had more than enough evidence to lay the fault on him. And he took off for his girlfriend's house at the first opportunity, didn't try to talk to the boys, nothing. He only came back when she kicked him out, saying she wasn't looking for a long-term relationship. By then I'd changed the locks and told the boys everything. Even let them listen to the voice mail I'd found. It's important in situations like that to make sure the kids know the facts."

"So they know who to blame?"

"So they know the facts."

"Where is he now?"

Dr. Marlow shrugged. "Hell if I know. He pays his child support on time, that's all I care about. And the boys get a birthday card signed by him every year, and an extravagant present I would never approve of."

Lassiter stared at her for a moment, then smiled. "It's a little-known fact that a three in four people can forge their spouse's signature."

She smiled back. "That is an interesting tidbit, thank you Detective."

After that the conversation turned to role models and teenage boys, and Lassiter got the feeling he was subtly being played.

***

"It has to be!" Jules exclaimed. "It's the only thing that makes sense! You guys have to help me."

Gus and Shawn exchanged a glance, Gus shaking his head sharply.

"Juliet, as much as we would appreciate the business-"

"Who said I was going to pay you?"

"Gus!" Shawn feigned indignation. "You would really think of charging our good friend Jules for our services?"

"Thank you, Shawn," Jules said, dazzling them both with a smile. "But it wouldn't take long. I mean, you can just read him, right?"

"Well…" Loathe as he was to admit any failings, this particular matter required some tact. Or lying, lying worked too. "Men like Lassie are hard to read. They keep everything wrapped so tight under neuroses and delusions of grandeur and homoeroticism, it's difficult to get at the truth."

"But even I can see it. Lassiter's in love!"

"What makes you think that?" Gus asked, trying as always to remain the voice of reason.

Jules flapped a hand in the air. "He's been acting all goofy. Not like himself at all. He doesn't get as mad when you bug him, Shawn, and I catch him smiling and humming to himself sometimes. Like he's _happy_."

"That is pretty unusual," Shawn agreed. "But maybe it's not love, maybe he just bought a new gun or something."

"No, the new-gun-happy doesn't last this long. It's been more than three months. Ever since that time he requested mental health leave then came back the next day. And? Ever since then? I've noticed he takes an hour away from the station at least once a week. Even when we've got a case, he finds the time."

"A break?"

"A date! I looked in his address book-"

"Jules, I thought you learned your lesson about that. I mean, it was hilarious, but not really you."

"I did learn!" she protested. "I learned which was his normal address book. There's a woman called Liane added near the back. Someone he met recently."

"And you think he's dating this woman?"

"Can't you find out, Shawn, please?"

"Why don't you just _ask_ him?" Gus asked, looking confused by this whole thing.

"I asked if he was dating someone, and he said no. Said he didn't have time. If I told him all the stuff about how he looks happy, he'd just deny it. And I can't tell him I looked in his desk again, not after last time."

"All right, we'll check it out."

"Shawn!"

Shawn grabbed Gus's arm and tugged him toward the wall, out of ear shot. "Gus, even if Jules had not brought this to us, the idea of Lassiter with a mystery girlfriend? This is too good to pass up!"

"Shawn, no, I do not want to get shot."

"Fine. You don't have to come. But I'm doing this."

"Really? Seriously? Making fun of Lassiter is this important to you?"

For a moment, Shawn looked uncertain. "It's not like we're doing anything else."

"_I_ am."

"Then you can do that. But I'm doing this."

Gus glared at him for a long moment. "I really don't get you sometimes, Shawn."

Shawn gave him a crooked grin. "Nobody does, I'm like the wind baby."

Gus shook his head and strode across the room. "Nice seeing you, Juliet," he said as he grabbed his coat.

"You too Gus."

They both watched him walk out.

"Was that weird?"

"Nah, he's mad I spilled smoothie in his car yesterday. I'll get him a coupon for a rug shampoo and all will be forgiven. Now," Shawn sat down at Gus's desk and grinned. "Tell me about this 'Liane.'"


	5. Chapter 5

5.

Shawn Spencer was not a man given to introspection. If he had to he was sure he could find reasons for most of his actions; after all, that was his job now. To put pieces together. Or something like that, it got confusing sometimes.

For example, today his job was to find out, somehow, whether Lassiter was dating anyone. More specifically, whether he was dating a woman named Liane Marlow. Cursory internet research revealed nothing, which wasn't that big a deal really. There were still plenty of people out there who didn't see the need to talk about themselves to the world at large. And, in retrospect, they probably had the right idea.

He spent as much time as he could without looking suspicious at the station. Reacquainting himself with various boys and girls in blue, giving a few readings, subtly inquiring about the pool on whether he was going to get shot any time soon. Strangely, the odds seemed to have gone down. Jules wasn't the only one who had noticed Lassiter seemed less angry lately. Oh, he was still the same jerkass he always was, but it wasn't as sharp. Buzz even said he'd loaned him a couple of bucks the other day, and hadn't reminded him to pay it back. Though Buzz still did, of course, to be safe.

"It's weird," Buzz said. "I think everyone's waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"Maybe he's just… getting better?" Shawn shrugged. "Figured out how to get all that angry Lassie energy out without alienating humanity at large."

Buzz thought about it for a moment. "Nah…"

"Yeah, you're right, that was silly."

Lassiter was pretending, poorly, not to watch him as he made his rounds. Shawn kept catching him with this weird distracted look on his face, and as soon as he realized Shawn was looking at him he would glare and return to his paperwork. Shawn was just about to give in to the urge and go bother him, when Lassie stood up and put on his coat, walking out without another word to anyone.

Shawn followed him.

It wasn't easy, both because Shawn was on his bike and because Lassiter was no doubt good at telling when he was being followed. Thankfully he stayed within the city, so Shawn was able to catch up to him at lights and stay low behind other cars. Eventually he came to a little café that Shawn had passed by once or twice. They specialized in pie and flavored milk; not the type of place Shawn pictured Lassie frequenting.

Peering through the windows, Shawn saw a woman smile and stand as Lassie approached her. She was attractive, but older than he'd expected; late forties or early fifties, it was hard to tell. Shawn's training let him see the tattoo on her arm, barely visible through her sheer cardigan, and a couple of faint scars on her leg that looked like bullet wounds. Ex-military, and keeping herself in excellent shape. No wonder Lassiter liked her.

And he did like her, that much was obvious. He'd smiled back at her, and they were now talking while they looked over the day's specials. The woman laughed and swatted Lassie's arm playfully.

Something uncomfortable knotted in Shawn's stomach. Without thinking, he straitened up and walked into the café, casual as could be. He ordered a slice of mixed-fruit pie and a pineapple milk, and sat down at a table, freezing in mock surprised when he saw who was at the table next to him.

"Lassie! Fancy running into you!"

"Spencer," he said flatly, glaring at the menu set into the table. The woman he was with gasped and grinned.

"This is him?"

"Liane, don't," Lassie said quickly, wincing.

"What? I'm not allowed to meet your coworkers?" She held her hand out. "Liane Marlow, nice to meet you."

"Shawn Spencer," Shawn said, trying not to hate her for reasons he refused to question. "Mind if I join you?"

"Yes," Lassie snapped, standing up.

"Oh, Carlton," Liane said, dismayed. "Let's just chat a bit. It can't hurt."

"_Someone's_ getting hurt if we stay here."

"Oh fine," she rolled her eyes, but stood and picked up her purse. "I still want pie, is there somewhere else nearby with pie?"

"I think so."

Shawn watched them both go, and pretended he didn't notice when Lassiter glanced back at him as he held open the door.

He finished his pie slowly, appetite gone, and tried to figure out what he was going to tell Jules. It was clear Lassie wasn't in love with that woman, but Shawn still wasn't sure what their relationship was.

When he finished he called Gus to complain, who was utterly unsympathetic. They agreed to meet back at the office as soon as Gus was finished for the day, and Shawn didn't want to go back to the station, so he did what any responsible adult would do. He went to drown his sorrows at the arcade.

Gus looked almost apologetic when he arrived at the office, although that may have been because he smelled the pizza Shawn had ordered. Shawn offered him a slice and Gus settled into his chair in front of the TV.

"So, what did you find?"

"Some, not enough." He started to explain what he'd seen, and when he got to the mystery date Gus jerked upright.

"Liane Marlow? Are you sure?"

"What, yes I'm sure, Gus. It's me."

"I know who she is."

Shawn leaned forward. "Who?"

"She's a psychiatrist, not on my route. Only moved to Santa Barbara a few months ago, _very_ exclusive practice. I think she treats mostly ex-soldiers and government agents."

"And cops?"

"Could be."

"That explains it," Shawn laughed, sinking back with relief. "That explains everything. Why Lassie's been acting different, why he won't tell anyone. He's seeing a shrink! Not sure why he was having lunch with her though…"

"Some doctors like to have a more personal relationship with their patients, especially when those patients have trust issues. Which Lassie probably does."

"Probably?" Shawn shook his head, still chuckling. "And Jules thought he was in love. Hell, I did too for a while there."

"That still doesn't explain why he took that mental health leave three months ago. Although if Dr. Marlow thought he was fit to come back I guess that's it for the pool. She's supposed to be really good."

"Well come on!" Shawn jumped to his feet. "Let's go tell Jules."

"What? Right now?"

"Yeah right now, come on." He bounced excitedly.

Reluctantly, Gus stood up. "You're not going to tease Lassie about this, are you?"

"What? No! Of course not. No."

Gus glared at him.

"Maybe."

"Shawn!"

"Well he shouldn't be keeping it a secret from his partner," Shawn huffed. "Are we going or what?"

***

They found Jules scribbling in her notepad, Lassie pacing nearby while he listened to someone on his cell phone.

"Case?" Shawn asked as they approached.

"Mm," she muttered. "Yeah. A woman found dead in her apartment. We're heading to the scene now."

"Do we know who it was?"

Jules nodded. "Lori Aylesworth, age 25."

"Not the artist?" Gus exclaimed, dismayed.

Jules looked at him sharply, then flipped through her notes. "Says she was a waitress, and I don't see any art supplies found at her place."

"Well, they wouldn't be recognizable as art supplies. She worked mostly in metal. Torches, soldering irons, that kind of thing."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Gus, nothing you make with a blowtorch can be called 'art.'"

"Just because you taught a pottery class for two weeks doesn't make you an expert on art, Shawn!"

Jules held out her notebook, showing Gus a page. "Uniforms found a couple of acetylene torches. Must be her. How did you know her?"

"I didn't, really, I just saw her at flea markets and fairs and things. I heard she had just gotten a show, though." He shook his head. "God, that's awful."

"You guys might as well come along then. Just to get a look at the place."

"We're on the case?" Shawn grinned.

"You're just looking for now," Jules corrected. "It's not up to me whether you get hired for this one. Depends on whether you see anything."

"I will keep all three of my eyes opened wide."

Lassiter snapped his phone shut and approached the three of them, scowling. "Are you going to follow me all day, Spencer?"

"The vic was an artist," Jules said quickly, drawing his attention. "Just got a show somewhere."

"An artist?"

"Metal sculpture. That's why she had those torches."

"Nothing made with a blowtorch can be called 'art.'" Lassiter sneered. Shawn stared at him. "Come on, let's go."

"I thought, since Gus was the one who knew she was an artist, and Shawn's already _here_…"

"Fine, whatever. Don't let them touch anything."

Lori Aylesworth's apartment was in a small complex in the middle of downtown, only a few blocks from her official place of work. Most of the uniforms had cleared out, leaving room for the detectives and CSI to examine everything. Gus refused to enter, and for once Shawn didn't berate him for it. Seeing someone he'd known and admired as an artist dead in her own home was too much to ask.

When he saw the body, Shawn was glad he hadn't insisted. The woman was covered in blood and bruises, lying awkwardly on the floor with her arm bent in a way that made Shawn's gut twist. He couldn't look at her too long, instead exploring the apartment.

There was a stack of brochures from various art galleries on the kitchen counter, and a file folder labeled with the name of the one on top. It looked like Gus had been right about her show. In one corner, over a tarp, was an unfinished sculpture of a winding ivy vine. Shawn was forced to re-think his opinions on art.

Lori's bedroom was covered in posters and wall hangings, and more sculptures, but her clothes and belongings were organized. Shawn took a look in her closet and found even her shoes lined up in pairs. It seemed odd; most artists weren't that neat, plus there were two different sizes of shoes in her closet. Shawn assumed the others belonged to a friend and peered into the bathroom. A man's razor sat by the sink, as well as a can of shaving cream and two toothbrushes.

The CSI team was packing up everything with blood on it, which was a lot. They were unfolding the couch-bed in order to get the sheet that had been sticking out, one of them explaining some of what they'd found to the two detectives. Shawn listened, frowning at what he heard, waiting for his turn. It sounded like she'd been beaten to death, and the locks weren't broken so it was probably someone she knew.

"I see a man," Shawn said, pressing both hands to his forehead. "His shadow is everywhere."

"Boyfriend?" Jules asked.

Shawn gritted his teeth. "Maybe, can't be sure, but there's been a man here, often."

"All right, we'd better ask the neighbors."

Lassiter snorted. "She was an attractive young woman, no reason to assume she _didn't_ have a boyfriend. Any other insights, Spencer?"

"Only that she recently broke up with someone else." There'd been a photograph torn in half in the bedroom trash. If she was tearing up photos, she would have thrown out his razor too. It had to have been of a different guy.

Lassiter glared at him. Jules started pushing buttons on the victim's cell phone through the evidence bag.

"Last three calls were from someone named Ivy, someone named Jaime, and someone… uh, it says 'Asshole.'"

"Have those numbers run," Lassie said. "Let's go talk to the neighbors."

Shawn followed them out into the hall and joined Gus by the stairs to fill him in.

"So you think it was the ex?"

"Could be. Could be something to do with her art, too. Isn't art worth a lot more after the artist is dead?"

"Sure, but she had only just gotten a show. It would make more sense to wait until she was widely known."

Shawn shrugged. "You're probably right. We don't know enough yet, we'll have to look around."

"Where do we start?"

Shawn held up one of the brochures he'd taken from the kitchen. "With her life."


	6. Chapter 6

6.

The victim's neighbors proved to be entirely useless. None of them had heard the murder, despite the apparent brutality of it, and the fact that the coroner estimated time of death at between one and two in the morning. Several of the neighbors admitted they slept with earplugs, since the victim had a tendency to midnight metalworking.

A torn photo had been found in the trash, so one of the uniforms took it door-to-door after Lassiter and O'Hara were finished. Some of the people on the victim's floor recognized the man in it, but didn't know his name or relationship to her. So far the case was going nowhere.

Luckily Jaime Downing, one of the last three calls, cooperated completely, even coming down to the station to give a statement. Lassiter had told him about Lori Aylesworth's, and he'd gone pale and flat, as if all the emotion drained out of him. It wasn't an unusual reaction.

"Where were you between one and two this morning?" A standard question, but one that had to be asked.

"Home," Jaime said. "Asleep."

"Is there anyone who can vouch for this?"

"My roommate, maybe. He tends to stay up pretty late playing video games. But I don't know what time he went to bed."

An unreliable alibi at best. "What was your relationship to Lori Aylesworth?"

"She's- she was my girlfriend. For about five months." He shook his head. "I just can't believe anyone would want to hurt her. Are you sure it wasn't a robbery?"

Lassiter ignored the question. "Was there anyone Lori was fighting with? A friend maybe?" Remembering what Spencer had said, he reluctantly added, "An ex?"

"She had this ex, yeah, real piece of work. Ego like you wouldn't believe. But he was seeing someone else, Lori's friend Ivy."

The other name in the phone. "Did anything change recently? Lori acting unusual?"

"No, not really. I hadn't even seen her in a week, she was so busy getting ready for her show. But I didn't mind. When I did see her, she was so happy. I've never seen anyone so happy."

This was going nowhere. "That will be all for now."

Lassiter met O'Hara in the viewing room. "I don't think it was him," she said. "He looks so broken up."

"Could be guilt," Lassiter said pragmatically. "But we've got nothing but speculation right now. How are those other numbers coming?"

"We still haven't been able to get in touch with Ivy, and the other one is a cheap cell phone, no contract."

"No name." Lassiter sighed. "Let's go check out that art studio, see if things were really going as well as Mr. Downer seems to think."

The studio was all the way on the other side of town, and at first Lassiter and O'Hara rode in their usual silence. The first few hours of a case were always the hardest. Scrambling for leads, putting together pieces, waiting for something to make sense.

"O'Hara," Lassiter said, startling her. "When you break up with someone, what do you do with their information in your phone?"

"Oh, uh, delete it, or change the name to something unflattering."

"Like 'Asshole?'"

She nodded. "What did you change your ex-wife's name to?"

Lassiter stiffened. "I didn't."

"What about your ex-partner?"

He said nothing, face carefully blank. O'Haha laughed.

"You know, no one can seem to agree on what happened between you two."

"Nothing did."

"A person doesn't transfer for no reason."

"It was an amicable parting," Lassiter said firmly. "There were rumors, and we both agreed it would be better for out careers to part ways."

"If you say so," O'Hara smiled, a little too smugly for Lassiter's liking.

"I'm glad she did, anyway," Lassiter said before he could stop himself. "I like what you and I have better than what she and I did."

"Carlton!" O'Hara exclaimed, sounding touched, and for a moment he was afraid she was going to try to hug him while he was driving.

"What street are we looking for?" he asked quickly. That provided enough of a distraction that by the time they reached the studio the awkward moment had passed.

There was a closed sign hanging crookedly on the door. It _was_ already evening, but the hours were written on the window and the studio wasn't supposed to close for another two. Peering through the glass, Lassiter saw a bent figure and what looked like two men standing above it. He had his sidearm out before his mind had fully processed what he was seeing.

"Carlton, wait," O'Hara hissed. "They might just be employees."

Lassiter scowled, but stepped back to let her rap on the door. The bent figure straightened up and resolved itself in the dim lighting into a man with purple jeans and three layers of different patterned shirts. Lassiter was tempted to arrest him for crimes of fashion, before the other two figures got close enough to see.

"Oh, god dammit Spencer. Can't I go anywhere without running into you?"

"You and I are bound by strings of fate," Spencer said, wiggling his fingers. Lassiter almost laughed, but managed to turn it into a cough.

The man in the purple jeans sniffled, wiping his eyes and smearing his makeup. "Are you guys here about Lori too?"

"Yes," Lassiter said. "Are you the owner?"

"No, no, I just do the work. I already told Mr. Spencer, Lori wasn't in any trouble, she- she was so happy…"

"Why don't you tell us about her show?" O'Hara asked. "How did she get your gallery's attention?"

The man nodded, and led the detectives back into the lighted part of the gallery and sunk into a folding chair. He raved about Lori's art, but didn't seem to have known her that well. A few of her pieces were already set up, and although Lassiter was unconvinced of the merits of metal as an artform, he had to admit the girl had skills. There was a hummingbird with every feather outlined, hovering as though ready to take off as soon as he looked away.

O'Hara took a full statement, but the gallery worker didn't have any useful information. He said the same as the boyfriend had; that Lori was happy and busy. As they headed back to the car, Lassiter noticed Spencer staring at one of the sculptures. It was nearly seven feet tall, of a small tree twisted and covered in vines so that it looked almost like a person.

"Any messages from the beyond?" Lassiter asked, mentally kicking himself as soon as it was out.

"How could she have made something like this in her apartment?" Spencer mused, sounding serious for one of maybe half a dozen times Lassiter had heard him. "It's too big, would have taken hours, days. The torches she had at her place were all small, probably for detailing."

"So she had a workspace somewhere, so what? It's just one more thing her family will have to worry about."

Spencer frowned, but nodded. "I guess so."

"What's with you, Spencer? Since when do you treat life like it actually means something?"

"I'm not sure, something just… feels off. Like I'm missing a big piece of the puzzle." He shook his head. "Or maybe your crazy vibes are throwing me off."

"Right."

"How was your lunch with Dr. Marlow?"

Lassiter clenched his jaw. "I don't believe either of us mentioned her profession."

"You didn't."

"You-"

"Lassiter!" O'Hara waved at him from the doorway, phone pressed to her ear. "We've got the name of the ex. He's got two priors."

"Home address?"

"Just been texted to me."

"Perfect, let's go."

It wasn't until they were on the road that Lassiter realized Spencer and Guster were following them. He briefly considered trying to lose them, but getting to the closest thing they had to a suspect took precedence over the butterflies in his stomach.

Later, what happened wouldn't really be surprising. Suspects ran all the time, some of them even threw punches. Lassiter was good enough that he was able to dodge, and he and O'Hara had the man covered within minutes. The only part that was unexpected was when he leapt out the second-story window and into his backyard, and the heavy smack of fist meeting face.

O'Hara had a head start, being on the other side of the apartment closer to the stairs, and by the time Lassiter caught up she was kneeling on the ground dabbing at the cut on Spencer's cheek with a handkerchief. Lassiter felt his heart squeeze in his chest, the panic rising in his throat. _Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Let me touch you, hold you, take care…_

"Spencer, what the hell were you doing back here?"

"I though, nn, if he ran out the back we could catch him."

"Well great job, he got away."

Spencer shook his head, winced, and pointed. The suspect was handcuffed to the fence.

"Gus took him down," Spencer said, and from the sheepish look on Guster's face Lassiter found it far more likely he had tripped and ran into him. "And Jules cuffed him."

"Quick thinking, O'Hara, good job."

O'Hara looked at him thoughtfully, and Lassiter realized belatedly that under normal circumstances the suspect would have been the first thing he saw.

"I'll call for backup," Lassiter said quickly. That would give him time to try and calm down. Soon the uniforms had gathered and the half-conscious suspect was hauled into a car. Medical attention would be waiting at the station; the last thing they needed in a case like this was an accusation of brutality. Never mind that Spencer and Guster weren't cops, and not even officially on the case. Lawyers didn't care about things like that.

***

Paul Powers, a supervillain name if Lassiter had ever heard one, wasn't talking. He insisted they were mistaken, claimed he'd thought the detectives were home invaders, lied outright and said he didn't even know Lori Aylesworth. The pictures of her, broken and bloody, did nothing to him. Finally he just clammed up and said nothing at all.

It was late. Too late. The boyfriend, Jaime, had been dragged out of bed to identify Powers, and wasn't in a good mood about it. Lassiter strongly suspected he'd been drinking.

"That's him all right. Do you really think he…"

"We don't know anything for sure," O'Hara said, always the one to go to when tact was needed. "But he ran when we got to his apartment, tried to assault an officer and _did_ assault a civilian who… happened to be in the way."

"What about Ivy? Is she okay?"

"Ivy? His girlfriend? You aid she was a friend of Lori's right?"

"Yeah. Wasn't she staying at his place?"

O'Hara and Lassiter exchanged a glance, Lassiter trying not to notice Spencer and his Batman band-aid listening in.

"We didn't find anyone else in the apartment."

"That's weird. I wonder where she is then."

"At home, probably. Do you want us to check on her?"

"No, but, she lived with Lori."

There was a long moment where no one could think of anything to say. Lassiter heard Spencer swearing, and forced himself to ask, "What?"

"Ivy! She lived with Lori. She wasn't on the lease so it was kind of a secret, but with Lori gone now I guess it doesn't matter. When you didn't say anything about her earlier I just figured she was staying with Paul and wasn't home when Lori was… was…"

Lassiter ran before he could finish the sentence. Back to the interrogation room, where Powers was sitting in silence.

"Ivy," he snapped. "Where is she?"

Powers looked at him with emotionless eyes and said nothing.

"Where is she, dammit!"

"The studio." The door had been left open, and Spencer was standing there, gripping the frame so hard his knuckles were white. "The studio Lori was using for her sculpture. It would have to be big, private, and soundproof."

Lassiter strode out of the room, grabbed the first desk jockey he saw. "Find out where that studio was, _now_!"

It took too long. Much too long. It would have taken longer if she hadn't kept her mail even after it was opened, including the bills for her rental space. By the time they (Lassiter, O'Hara, six uniforms, CSI, and Spencer and Guster tagging along) got there it was well after midnight, and they had to shake the security guard awake and stand by, shaking with impatience, while he looked up which space was hers and found the key.

Lassiter was expecting worse. He was expecting a torture chamber, or body parts flung across the room. What they found was a skinny girl, covered in bruises and bleeding from a dozen places, lying just in front of the door as though she'd tried until the last minute to get out. On of the CSI monkeys bent over her and shook his head.

"She's been dead less than half an hour. If… if we'd been faster…"

"Don't say that," Lassiter snapped, for everyone's benefit. He rubbed his forehead, wishing he was better with words.

Everyone got out of the way while the CSI team did their jobs. Spencer and Guster were standing some distance off, Guster looking green.

"Go home," Lassiter said. "It's over."

"It's not," Spencer said. "We've got to prove-"

"_You_ don't have to do anything. We know who did this, there's bound to be proof of it. Someone saw him here, something. We'll find means, motive and opportunity. It's what we do. All you have to do it go home and get some rest."

"She was happy," Spencer said. "She was happy, and she was his ex, and she was living with his new girlfriend, and… and she probably broke up with him too. Torn photo. The other one, Jaime, he mentioned the ego… They were happy, and they were friends, and he couldn't understand it. How anyone could be happy after leaving him."

The look on Spencer's face was one Lassiter had seen a hundred times. Everyone went through it. _If I'd been faster, if I'd noticed, if I'd seen, if I was __**better**__…_

"Go home," he said, far more tenderly than he'd meant to. "Don't think about it. Trust me."

Spencer shook his head. "Just let me hang around a little longer, see if I can help."

"It's not up to me." He sighed. "But fine, sure, I won't kick you out."

"Thanks," Spencer smiled weakly up at him, and Lassiter had to fight the urge to hug him and tell him it would all be all right. Forcing his eyes away from that smile, he noticed Guster still looked green.

"What about you?"

"I want to go home," he admitted.

"Spencer, are you going to need your Magic 8-Ball?"

"Nah, go on home Gus. I'll let you know tomorrow what happens."

"Okay. Thanks Shawn." He patted his friend on the shoulder and dropped his voice. "It's going to be okay, you know? This isn't your fault."

"I know," Spencer said, obviously lying. "I'll see you tomorrow."

There was a brief few seconds where Lassiter and Spencer were nearly alone, and Lassiter found himself trying, desperately, to find some way to comfort him that wouldn't out himself in the process.

"Detective," one of the CSI called. "Can you look at this?"

Gratefully Lassiter went to join them, leaving Spencer to stand by the wall and watch. Alone.

*********************************************************************************

AN:

I was originally going to have the case be split into a couple chapters, but once I started writing it got away from me. Oh well, I hope it still reads all right.

What's up with all this "showing emotion" business, Lassie?


	7. Chapter 7

7.

It was three AM and Lassiter was running on inertia and coffee. He'd given up on trying to look tough, and every cup he drank had just a little more cream and sugar than the last.

Paperwork was done, lawyers were called. There was nothing left to do until morning, and even then it wouldn't be his job. He'd sent O'Hara home an hour ago, pretending not to notice the way she'd rubbed all her eye makeup off. There was nothing left to do, but… he was still here. Going over all the files, all the photos, looking for every clue they could use to make sure this bastard wound up behind bars.

He wasn't alone. Spencer was sitting on the stairs outside when Lassiter finally gave it up and decided to head for home. Lassiter had noticed when he left earlier, since lately he couldn't seem to _not _notice what ever Spencer was doing, but had assumed he'd gone to get some sleep. He was sitting on a step, staring at the dim street, hands folded in front of his mouth.

Lassiter sunk down beside him, careful to keep a reasonable gap between them. "What are you doing?"

"Thinking."

"At three in the morning?"

"I do some of my best thinking at the witching hour."

Lassiter sighed. "Let me drive you home."

"Kay."

Spencer as quiet at first, although Lassiter noted with a swell of pride the way his eyebrows rose as he got into the car. There was no way to avoid certain wear and tear on the job, but he kept the interior spotless and smelling of citrus fruits. Spencer gave clear and concise directions to his apartment, with only one 80's reference and a half-hearted dig at Lassiter's hair.

Lassiter was not even slightly surprised to find it was an old laundromat.

He parked in front, turning off the engine and waiting. Spencer made no move to get out of the car.

"It wasn't your fault."

"I should have known," Spencer said, his voice cracking. "I knew something was off, something was bothering me, this whole time. I should have _known_!"

"And you think I shouldn't have? Or O'Hara?"

"I _do_ this, Lassie! Putting together clues… I saw the shoes, in her closet. Two sizes. And it was so clean. Artists aren't clean! Ivy, she was the organizer. I should have known…"

"I saw the shoes too! And the extra toothbrush, and the sheet sticking out of the couch. You didn't see anything I didn't." Lassiter narrowed his eyes. "Did you?"

Spencer looked at him, those stupid bright eyes of his reflecting the streetlight. Lassiter realized what he'd said, realized what _Spencer _had said, realized…

"No," Shawn said. "I didn't."

No visions. No vibes. He'd all but admitted there was nothing mystical in what he did…

"Are you going to arrest me?"

"Don't be stupid."

"I know you know that I'm not telling the truth." He sighed, and sunk back in the spotless pleather seat. "That I'm not psychic."

"Well you also know I don't have any _proof _you're not. And you've already convinced one judge of your 'powers.'" Lassiter emphasized the quotations with his fingers. "You… you drive me crazy. The way you do things… But you help people. You get criminals off the streets. That's what matters. That's why I got into this business to begin with."

"It was a game, at first. I'd see things, call in tips. I don't know why I did it, I just… did. Maybe a sense of justice survived my dad's training. But the whole detective thing… it was just a game. It was fun for me, to put the pieces together, to _win_. I don't… I don't like it when people die. Especially not because of me."

"It wasn't your fault," Lassiter said again, gently. "You didn't do anything wrong. Except, well, the lying about being psychic thing, and I'm still not sure who- if anyone- really believes you are. The only person at fault here is the son of a bitch who killed those girls. And if it wasn't for you, we wouldn't have even known who he was. You were the one who figured out there was an ex."

Spencer smiled crookedly. "Torn picture in the trash."

"I know." Lassiter managed a smile back. "When your dad was on the force, he'd do this thing, he'd pull clues out of thin air. He'd know things no one else could figure out. I never knew him that well, but everyone talked about it. They thought he had some kind of sixth-cop-sense. But I always figure it was just his years of experience, that taught him where to look and what to look for."

"So you knew the whole time?"

"Not totally. It was only recently I realized it was your father who taught you. But I never thought you were psychic."

The smile spread into a grin. "Never?"

"Not once."

Spencer leaned closer to him, and Lassiter realized he was smiling too. "Not even when I figured out you wanted a pony as a kid?"

"You saw me petting the horse."

"And the snowglobes?"

He shuddered. "I'm still mad at you about the snowglobes."

"Come inside." Spencer jerked his head toward his apartment. "Let me make it up to you?"

"How do you plan on doing that?"

"Coffee? Or, I still have some pie?"

Lassiter thought about it. It was the middle of the night, Spencer was clearly still distraught, and it was taking every ounce of him willpower not to pounce him here in the car.

"All right."

Afterward, Lassiter wasn't sure what had prompted the kiss. He would have liked to blame it on Spencer, nothing would have made him happier, but going over the events again and again there was no denying he had been the one to initiate.

They walked inside, Spencer flicked on the lights, Lassiter had just enough time to see clothes strewn everywhere and books (so many books. Had Spencer really read all these? And- Was that the entire California State penal code?), when Spencer turned and asked him something about coffee, but Lassiter didn't hear because he was close, so close, close enough to reach out and grab and…

Spencer was stiff when their lips met, which was entirely understandable. What was less so was the way he clutched Lassiter's jacket lapels and kissed him back, five o'clock shadow scratching Lassiter's chin as he mashed his face against the detective's as hard as he could. They broke apart, gasping for air, Lassiter feeling like he'd walked into a dream instead of a messy apartment.

"What- Shawn, did you… What?"

"I invited you in for coffee and pie," Shawn said, looking smug and thrillingly flushed. "I figured even _you _couldn't misunderstand _that_. And you didn't."

"I- I didn't mean to… I wasn't… I wasn't thinking."

"Good. Don't." Shawn grabbed him again, this time wrapping his arms around Lassiter's shoulders, and pushed him back against the door so he could kiss him without knocking him over. Lassiter was glad of it, because it let him have something to brace himself while most of his body was occupied with touching as much of Shawn as he could.

Somehow they would up on the couch, Lassiter's coat and shoulder holster abandoned along the way. He was seriously afraid he'd lost a button when Shawn had torn his shirt open.

"You- The things you do to me," he growled.

Shawn grinned at him, tugging his shirt free. "What kind of things?"

"You are… the only person who has ever made me want to beat the crap out of you, and kiss you senseless at the same time."

"I do all that, huh?"

"Yes, you do." He sucked at Shawn's neck, tongue dragging over stubble.

"Mm, maybe it's about time you started doing things to me."

"Stop talking."

"Give me something better to do with my mouth, then."

Lassiter did.


	8. Chapter 8

8.

Lassiter had long ago trained himself to wake up every morning at six AM. No matter what time he'd gone to bed, even if all he did was roll over and go back to sleep, he always woke up at six.

This morning he didn't roll over. In fact, he very carefully extracted himself from under the arm of the other occupant of the bed, found his clothes among the mess, and left.

It was better this way. That had been… a very serious mistake. On both their parts. Shawn would understand, probably. He'd know why Lassiter had done it, that at least was certain. Shawn was good at things like that. He would understand… He had to.

Lassiter took his time getting showered and dressed. Less than two hours of sleep was not nearly enough to face a morning after like this, but it was the best he was going to get. A hot shower and fresh clothes were at least enough that he could put on the mask, pretend to be normal.

The problem was pride. Last night had been a defeat, a surrender to his emotions, and Lassiter wasn't willing to face up to that yet.

Of course, there were certain people he couldn't hide things from. As soon as he got to the station he found O'Hara with a fresh cup of coffee and a half-eaten granola bar, looking over the reports from the coroner and CSI.

"Anything notable?" Lassiter asked.

"Not really. Kind of what we expected. It does look like Lori was gagged, though, so that would explain why the neighbors didn't hear anything."

"Hm." Lassiter picked up one of the files she was finished with, and started to flip through it.

"Did you sleep okay?"

"Huh? Oh… Fine."

"You look tired."

"I'm fine." She didn't say anything, but after a moment Lassiter felt eyes on him, and glanced down to see her staring. "What?"

"I don't know. You look… Worried."

"Why would I be worried?"

"Carlton," she rolled her eyes. "You're dodging. You should be better than that."

There was a crispness in her voice that Lassiter had only heard directed at her nephews. He coughed uncomfortably, but there was no getting around it. O'Hara was his partner, and last night was going to have some effects on his work, whether he liked it or not. She deserved the truth.

"I need to talk to you. Privately."

She jumped to her feet and dragged him by the sleeve down to the archives. No one would be down there, especially not this early. Policing was a 24-hour job, but there was something about the morning that made people lax.

"All right," O'Hara grinned up at him. "Spill."

"You don't have to look so eager."

"I've known something was going on with you for months! What is it? Are you dating someone? You're dating someone, right?"

"No! No, definitely not." Having a crush on Shawn had been bad enough, and he didn't even want to _think_ about what had happened last night. The memory of Shawn's hands on him had made the morning's shower rather… difficult.

"Then what is it?" She stopped, noticing the look on his face. "Carlton. You can tell me anything."

"I know." He took a steadying breath. "Last night… after you left, uh, Spencer was still here. He was upset, about what happened. Blaming himself. You know how it is."

She nodded. It happened to everyone. You had to learn to move past it, or it would drive you crazy.

"Well, I- I offered to drive him home, and I uh, I was talking to him, trying to tell him it wasn't his fault. Um. Well. He invited me in… One thing led to another…"

He trailed off. O'Hara was trying not to smile.

"I'm sorry, but you sound like you're about to tell me the two of you slept together!" She laughed. Lassiter didn't. "I know, I know, ridiculous, right?"

"No… not really."

Slowly, O'Hara stopped laughing. She stared at him, cocked her head, then raised her finger to point, as though not entirely sure she was addressing the right person. "You… You didn't… I mean, that's impossible, you- you're not… Shawn's not… You had _sex_?"

Lassiter winced. "That depends on how you define sex."

"I define sex as sex! There's not a- a list of rules, Carlton." She shoved at her bangs. "Oh my god. Really? _Really_?"

"It's not like I planned it!"

"You- I didn't even think you _liked_ Shawn!"

"I didn't! Until… a while ago."

"A while- When? About three months ago?"

"What- Yeah. How did you-"

"That's why you thought you were crazy, isn't it?" Her eyes lit up with triumph. "Because you had a crush on Shawn! Oh, Carlton, that's adorable."

"What?" This was far from the reaction he'd been expecting.

"And he liked you back! Oh, why didn't I see it? All the teasing, sitting on your lap, the nicknames… Like a little kid pulling pigtails." Her brow furrowed. "And you know, he was always making jokes about Matthew McConaughey and firemen… but maybe they weren't jokes. Wow, this explains a lot."

It did, now that Lassiter thought about it. But it didn't make a difference.

"What are you doing here, though? If it was me, not that I've thought about it, I would want to sleep in."

Lassiter winced. "It was… a mistake. I left."

"You left?" O'Hara's eyes widened. "You- you didn't _sneak out_ did you?"

"Well-"

"Did he catch you?"

"No-"

"Then you've probably still got time. Call him, tell him you went to get breakfast, then go back to his place and _talk_ about what happened."

"What? I'm not going back there. O'Hara, it was a mistake. I don't want to draw it out any longer than I have to."

"It was a mistake to sleep with someone you've had feelings for for months? Someone ho clearly likes you as much as you like them? I wish I made those kinds of mistakes more often." She crossed her arms. "Are you going?"

"No!"

"Then I'm shouting to the hallway that you slept with Shawn."

Lassiter glared at her. "You wouldn't."

She smiled, reaching for the doorknob.

"Wait! Wait… okay. Fine." He sighed. "Fine."

"Well?"

"With you watching?"

"Yes with me watching! I want to make sure you really do it."

"Jesus," Lassiter muttered, taking his phone out of his pocket. "It's like middle school."

Shawn answered the phone, sounding mostly asleep. "'Lo?"

"Uh, hi, Shawn."

"Lassie? What… Where are you?"

"I, uh." O'Hara was still glaring at him. "I went to get breakfast. I… didn't want you to wake up and think I'd snuck out."

"Oh. Oh yeah, hey. That's, thanks. I'll see you in a bit?"

"Yes. Bye."

"Bye."

O'Hara was beaming when he turned back. "You better bring him some fruit. He like fruit."

"I know that," he said, affronted.

"Well? Get going!"

She watched him the whole way out, and peered through the windows until she saw his car leave the parking lot. It seemed to be going the right way. O'Hara managed to wait almost thirty seconds before she ran, full-tilt, to the chief's office. The door was shut, locked, and blocked with a chair. All the blinds pulled. Then, finally, she leaned on Vick's desk and burst out laughing.

"Something to share, Detective?"

O'Hara did her best to stifle the giggles. "Y- yeah, sort of. Um. What are the regs for having a relationship with a consultant?"

"Nothing against it, so long as it doesn't interfere with… Are you seeing Spencer?"

"Me? No, no, no way. Not now, I wouldn't… I mean, I liked him for a while, but it never worked out and… No, not me."

"Not you?" Vick said, showing once again that there was a reason she held her position. "Then who?"

O'Hara giggled. "Lassiter."

Vick stared at her. "O'Hara… What are you talking about?"

"Shawn and Lassiter. Last night. Slept together."

"I'm sorry," Vick shook her head. "I've got to be misunderstanding you here."

"They had sex!"

"Spencer must be playing a trick on you."

"Lassiter's the one who told me!"

A pained look crossed her face. "Oh no, he really did need that mental health leave."

"So he's not going to get in trouble, right?"

"No… if it's true. There's nothing against it, just…" Vick shook her head. "Are you sure?"

"Why would Lassiter say something like that if it wasn't true?"

"Okay, good point." She rubbed her forehead. "Why would he sleep with Spencer at all?"

"I'm still trying to figure that one out. But I had to tell someone." O'Hara grinned. "Can you believe it?"

"No, I can't. Are you done?"

"Yes?"

"Then get back to work."

***

Shawn was up and showered by the time Lassiter got back. He'd picked up a full deli spread, not sure what Shawn would like and having skipped breakfast himself. They would both need the energy of a full meal if they wanted to get through the day.

Things were awkward, and it was Lassiter's fault; he knew that. It was hard to act like he was fine when all he wanted was to get out of there. Halfway through his second muffin, Shawn put it down and raised his eyebrow.

"You know I can tell when you're hiding something, right?"

Lassiter's brow furrowed. "What, can you read my face?"

"No, but you changed. I would have woken up if you used the shower here. You went home, you got dressed, and… you went to work."

He glanced down at his crumbs.

"You walked out on me."

"Last night…"

"You weren't thinking, right?"

"Right."

Shawn leaned forward and rested his hand on Lassiter's knee. "Are you thinking now?"

Before he could say anything, before he could _think_ of anything to say, his phone rang. He swore under his breath, and pulled it from his jacket pocket.

"Lassiter."

"Lassiter, you've got to get back." It was O'Hara, sounding frantic. "Powers made bail."

"What?" He jumped to his feet. "How?"

"His mom. He's gone, and that's not the worst part. We just got a call from the mom, only a few seconds but she was shouting, begging for help."

"I'll be right there." He was already moving, and Shawn was behind him, hopping as he pulled on his shoes.

"Stay here."

"I can help!"

"You've already helped, now we've got a serial murderer on the run. You'll only be in the way."

"Oh, like I was in the way last night?"

"Last night was a mistake!" Lassiter snapped.

He froze.

Shawn stared at him.

"I… I have to get to work."

"Lassie-"

"We'll talk later."

The door swung shut behind him, and Shawn didn't follow.


	9. Chapter 9

9.

Shawn waited five minutes before he called Gus. He timed it. Gus made minor protest, talked about how he had to be at work at ten, but he must have heard something in Shawn's voice, because he didn't even wait for the inevitable 80's reference before agreeing to come over.

Shawn was humming "Angel of the Morning" when Gus came into the kitchen. He took one look at the set-up and scowled.

"Okay, that table is set for two," Gus said. "And it looks like someone was already eating there."

"Great observational skills, buddy!" Shawn said as cheerfully as he could manage. "I'm honestly proud of you."

"What happened after I left last night?"

"Yeah, uh… we're not talking about that."

"Then why am I here, Shawn?"

The police scanner chose that moment to crackle to life, Lassiter's voice announcing their approach of a building not ten minutes away.

"That's why."

When they arrived Lassiter and O'Hara were talking to an older woman wrapped in a blanket. Gus started to walk toward them, but Shawn grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him back behind the closest patrol car.

"Shawn-"

"Shh," Shawn hissed.

"We're not on the case?" Gus whispered.

"Not exactly."

"Then why are we here?"

"Look, that asshole Powers got bailed out this morning. Just shush, and listen."

The woman was crying. It was hard to make out what she was saying, but from that and the way the police were lined up, Shawn gathered that Powers had locked himself in the shop. Shawn knew this place, it had been a used bookstore until about a month ago, and was now full of empty shelves and dust.

Peering around the car, Shawn realized no one was in the store next to it, a clothing boutique. It wasn't open yet, but there was a door between the two. Powers could sneak into the other store, and when the cops raided the bookstore they wouldn't find him and think he'd escaped somehow. They would leave, giving him a chance to really escape.

He explained this all to Gus, in a hissing whisper, and Gus stared at him.

"Well?"

"What?"

"Tell the cops!"

"I can't."

"What? Why not?"

"I just can't! I can't talk to him right now."

"Him? Him who?"

"I've got an idea. Come on." They snuck around the store the long way, finding the back entrance of the clothing store shut with a combination lock.

"Think you can handle it?"

"I am not going in there."

"Oh, so you can't."

"Please. Of course I can. But I'm not going in there."

"You don't have to."

"And neither are you."

"Look, I'll be fine."

"You'll be dead!"

"I have to go in there, Gus," he said firmly. "I have to go in there, and I have to stop him from getting away. I _have_ to."

"Why you? You're not a cop, Shawn, you're a detective. Running in to confront a killer is- is suicide!"

"I'm doing this. With or without your help."

They stared each other down.

Gus blinked first. "What the hell happened last night?"

"I'll tell you if I live."

Gus unlocked the door, and Shawn slipped inside.

***

No one knew anything was wrong until the gunshot. And then everyone with a badge was moving before they even heard the scream. High-pitched, girlish, but the tones were familiar.

"Shit," Lassiter muttered. "That sounded like Guster."

"You think they're in there?" O'Hara exclaimed.

Lassiter didn't answer her, charging ahead of the uniforms and only barely managing to stop himself from bursting in alone.

Voices could be heard inside, faint. Someone was shouting, but there were no more gunshots, no more screams. As soon as he saw O'Hara brace herself against the wall behind him, Lassiter kicked in the door.

"Stay out!" someone screamed. Lassiter froze, fearing the worst. "Shut that door!" He started to turn, but O'Hara beat him to it. "Come where I can see you!"

Slowly they walked forward. The stacks of books made it hard to see, but there was a door open on one side, letting light in. Going against all his training, Lassiter's eyes swept the floor first, looking for anyone lying there. Thankfully all he saw were three pairs of feet, and his eyes moved up to find Guster standing just inside the doorway, looking terrified, Powers with a gun waving wildly, and Shawn standing between them, unhurt.

Relief like a physical blow rushed through Lassiter. His knees nearly buckled.

"Mr. Powers," he heard O'Hara say, "you don't want to make things worse for yourself."

And thank god she was on the ball. Damn, he'd known things were going to be awkward, but now his feelings for Shawn were interfering with his job. All he could think about was; what if he'd died? What if he did something stupid, the way he always did, and this time his charm and con skills weren't enough to get him out of it? What if… What if…

"Drop your guns," Powers ordered. "Drop them!"

They both obeyed.

"I'm walking out of here. I'm walking out of here, and you're all staying put, unless you want Miss Cleo here _dead_."

"Miss Cleo, really?" Shawn protested.

"We can't let you do that," Lassiter said darkly. "You killed two women, you've threatened a civilian-"

"I'll do a lot more than threaten!" He swung his gun around to point at Lassiter. "You tell those cops outside I'm walking out of here."

"I don't think so."

"Don't you care what happens to your civilian!"

"If you think I'm going to let you hurt him, you're very much mistaken."

"What about you then?" Powers grinned suddenly. "Will you let me hurt _you_?"

He had just enough time to register the tightening of Powers' hand, before Shawn jumped forward and shouted "No!" Powers stumbled as Shawn crashed into him, and the gun went off into the ceiling. He shoved him away, steadied the gun.

Three voices screamed, "Shawn!"

No one else was close enough to stop him. The gun went off and Shawn fell backward, and Lassiter tackled Powers to the ground so hard he heard something crack. He bashed his head into the hardwood floor once for good measure, then cuffed him far tighter than he needed to.

He could see, out of the corner of his eye, Guster and O'Hara bending over Shawn, but he was afraid to look until he heard the groan.

"Is it bad?" Shawn asked weakly.

"He barely gazed you," O'Hara said, trying to mask her relief. "Why did you fall over?"

"I think I lost my balance. It _felt_ like he shot me."

Lassiter climbed off Powers at the same time as Guster helped Shawn to his feet. His left arm was bleeding through the sleeve, but he seemed to be able to move it all right. He was fine. He was fine.

Shawn smiled that stupid beautiful smile. "You were worried."

"Do _not_ do something that suicidal again."

"You were _worried_."

"Of course I was worried!"

"You care." Lassiter said nothing, and Shawn smiled wider. "You _care_."

Lassiter took three steps forward, cupped Shawn's face in his hands, and kissed him. Shawn wrapped his good arm around his waist and kissed back eagerly. Guster was jabbering something, and O'Hara was sighing, but for a brief second Lassiter didn't care what anyone thought of him, only that Shawn was here, and safe, and kissing him.

"Was that a mistake too?" Shawn asked breathlessly.

"Not that," he said. "Only leaving."

"I'm never letting you live that down."

"Stop talking."

"Make me."

Lassiter bent to kiss him again, but O'Hara cleared her throat. "Someone will be wondering what's with all the shooting in here."

"Oh. Right." They broke apart reluctantly. "Someone book the mom too. I don't want this to happen again."

"We'll handle it." She shooed them all toward the door. "Why don't you accompany Shawn to the emergency room, and I'll handle the paperwork."

"Are you sure you don't-"

"I can handle it."

"You can call me if you need-"

"I will."

They stepped out into the sunlight, Shawn still beaming and Lassiter having to fight very hard not to do the same.

"I have come to the conclusion that getting shot sucks, but it sure does make people be nice to you."

"Is it worth it?"

"This time? Absolutely."


	10. Chapter 10

10.

"You are so lucky you got shot, Shawn," Gus said, glaring straight ahead as he drove. Lassiter had stuck with them through the hospital visit and a brief goodbye after, but then he'd scrambled back to the station like his tail was on fire. Shawn and Gus hadn't yet had a moment to speak privately, though Gus managed to make his feelings very clear despite not saying anything.

"I know," Shawn said smugly. "I get kissed, I get awesome painkillers. If it weren't for the, you know, _searing pain_ I would recommend it to everyone."

"I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

"Tell you what? There wasn't anything to tell before last night."

"Then why didn't you tell me what happened last night?"

"Oh come on! Do you tell me about every time you get dumped? About every date that ends in humiliation? I was upset, I didn't want to talk about it."

"Okay… I guess that makes sense." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Why didn't you tell me you, you know, liked Lassiter?"

"I didn't think I had a chance with him. I was trying to ignore it." Shawn rolled his eyes. "Besides, you never like it when I talk about guys."

"Sorry," Gus muttered. "It's just weird."

"I know, I know. But you're going to have to get used to it now. I'm not going to let Lassie get away from me again." He laughed. "He thought he was going crazy, you know! That's why he requested that mental health leave. Because he started having feelings for me."

"That's not really surprising."

"I know, that's the great part. He's crazy for me. Crazy. For me, Gus."

"All right, I get it."

"Do you, though? Lassie's so… so intense. So serious. I always knew there was a lot of passion trapped in there, but to have it released…" He sighed. Gus shuddered.

"I do not want to know."

"That's fine. More for me."

"More… what?"

"You said you didn't want to know."

"I really don't understand you sometimes."

"I know."

And that was that. Gus forgave him, as he always did, and Shawn went home and passed out on his couch. Things were going to be different now, that much was certain, but they would be different in a good way. Hopefully.

***

"Wow," Dr. Marlow said, blinking. "I mean, wow. I did not see that coming."

"Neither did I," Lassiter said, voice muffled behind his hands.

"So are you going to try to have a relationship?"

"I guess so. I don't know. At least I know Spencer won't leave me for not paying attention to him. When he wants attention he'll just show up and sit in my lap. Again." He smiled at the memory, and when he glanced between his fingers at Liane he could see her smiling too.

"You sound happy."

"I… I think I might be."

"Good," she beamed. "I'm glad."

"I don't know if this is going to work. I don't know if I can _make_ this work. He's a man. I don't even have any male _friends_, what do I know about having a relationship with one?"

"Do you care about him?"

"Yes…"

"Then you'll just have to cowboy up."

***

Gus drove Shawn to the station that evening, and watched as he grinned at Lassiter until he set aside his paperwork and left for the day, with less reluctance than probably anyone was expecting. Gus took a seat at Juliet's desk, sighing.

"It's not just me, right? I mean, this is weird."

"This is weird," Jules agreed. "It doesn't have to be bad-weird. Look how happy they are."

"This won't be good for Lassiter's career, will it?"

"Not if it's found out, no," she sighed. "We're in California and all, but… No."

"Too bad. I know that's the last thing Shawn would want."

"Yeah." She tucked the last of her files into a drawer and stretched in her chair. "You know what I need?"

"A Roy Rogers?"

She blinked, then grinned. "I was thinking whiskey sour. But that sounds good too."

"Want some company?"

"You bet."


	11. Epilogue

11.

Shawn and Lassiter were halfway down the block before the rain of cutlery and profanity was halted. Whether Mrs. Lassiter got tired or was restrained by the waitstaff was something neither of them were curious about to check. They didn't stop running until they were across the street and ducked into an alley.

"Well," Lassiter said, panting. "That went about as well as I expected."

"You expected your mom to throw silverware at us?"

"Why do you think I borrowed her knife?"

"Well she got it back."

"I'm aware."

"And mine too."

"I noticed."

"Do you think the restaurant will call the cops?"

"Probably."

"Do you think your mom will _tell _the cops why she was so upset?"

They stared at each other for a moment, then spun around and started running back the way they'd came.

In the past two months, Shawn and Lassiter had fought over many things. Messes, shaving, public displays of affection; but they'd agreed that being open with their relationship wouldn't be good for either of their careers. The people who needed to know knew, and no more.

But things had been going well enough for these two months that Lassiter had announced he wanted Shawn to come with him to his weekly brunch with his mother. Shawn had known things wouldn't go well, but he agreed anyway.

And then the yelling had started.

"Are you sure you can afford that?" Shawn asked worriedly. He hadn't actually seen the check Lassiter had written to the restaurant, but he recognized the way his hand moved, and there were far too many zeroes.

"No," Lassiter said. "But it's better than letting word get out and losing my career."

"Yeah…" Shawn stuck his hands in his pockets, kicking a pebble on the pavement as they walked to Lassiter's car. "She wouldn't have said anything anyway."

"Maybe, maybe not. If she was angry enough."

"She's your mom."

"She's ashamed of me. Especially now."

"She shouldn't be!"

"I know that. You think I don't know that?" Lassiter grinned unpleasantly. "Why do you think I wanted to bring you along today? I've never made her proud, no matter what. I'd rather tell her the truth and cut off ties now, then keep pretending I care what she thinks."

Shawn didn't see the need to point out of obviously untrue that was, that no matter _what _you did you would always care what your parents thought, but since that would bring out some rather uncomfortable questions about himself he kept his mouth shut.

"Have you told your father?"

Shawn winced. "If I tell my dad who I'm dating, he takes it as an invitation to either _meet _them, or tell me who _he's_ dating. Neither of which I want to happen!"

"I won't pretend your dad and I get along," Lassiter rolled his eyes. "But he cares about you. He respects you."

"Since when?"

"Since… Well, I'm not sure, actually. But he does." Lassiter shrugged. "All the times he's saved your skin, or relied on you for something?"

"Yeah…" That was not something Shawn wanted to think about right now. "Is this your way of trying to get invited to dinner tonight?"

Lassiter looked askance at him. "No."

"You're not going to try to fix my relationship with my father? Or mother?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

Shawn breathed out a sighed of relief and grinned. "I love you."

Lassiter's cheeks colored and he scowled. Anyone not close enough to hear what he said would assume he was angry or flustered. Only Shawn knew him well enough to realize he could be both of those and sweet at the same time.

Because what he said was, "I love you too."


End file.
